"A Christmas Suicide"

Oh how much fun can preside...
In my own little Christmas suicide?

No drums, or horns.
No bells, or whistles.
No crown of thorns,
No throne of thistles.

Just me and my bow
Sharpened and ready to play the violin of my wrists.
The pain softening the blow,
From your eternally clenched fists.

The liquid runs,
Enough to paint the town red.
But I suppose the father and his sons
Will have to settle with the pure white sheets of my bed.

For I can no longer bear
This Christmas season,
So I pray that you do not despair
Over my villainous treason.
My betrayal of life,
And all its trials.
My escape from the strife,
And all the false smiles.

I will take this time to lay a curse upon you,
In my heart's last few beats.
For it is finally time for you to view
Your numerous deceits.
The deaf ears you turned
In my times of need.
The many proposals you spurned,
It is for them that I bleed.

This slander with no fear of rebuttal
I proclaim without hesitation,
For outside awaits my cold black shuttle
Ready to bear me to its fiery destination.

But do not cry.
It would sadden me far too greatly to see you weep.
Just accept my final good-bye,
As I drift off to sleep.

Oh you and I are still madly in hate,
Of that loss you should not fear.
But how sad are the terms of my blood red fate,
For from my veins now flow the last of my Christmas cheer.

Copyright © 2005 Jarred Lee